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I’ve had long hair all my life, waist/hip length. Unfortunately, around when I turned into a teen it became a bit of a burden. Cat-callers would address me by my hair, calling me Blondie along with other lewd things. There’s been times where strangers, behind my back, have stroked my hair. Some from the top to the very ends (at my butt), then vanishing from sight. I used to think I was imagining things, until my friend who was shopping with me verified it.
On my sixteenth birthday (July 2006) at a restaurant in the Springfield,MA Marriott hotel, the manager came out and chatted up my mother and I. As he was doing this, he was also stroking my hair and said to me, unbeknownst to my mother, “men love long hair…” in my ear. He was a larger man in his 50′s. I wish I reported it. He still worked there as of the second incident described below.
A couple years later (July 2008) there was another incident at this same hotel, same restaurant, where a couple of older business men were asking my mother inappropriate questions. The waitstaff (men and a woman) witnessed this and did nothing, said nothing. We reported it to the front desk and my mother was in tears. The hotel security, a very nice woman, assured us she’d fix this. But she then said she couldn’t/didn’t because these men belonged to a company(unknown) that frequently puts its employees up at the hotel. They gave us the dinner free, threw in a couple of ice cream bars, and sent us back to our room. That’s when I realized how easy it is for people to get away with sexual harassment. Especially at this hotel. Ruined my birthday, twice.
I was walking to school, a car stopped,
the man inside told me: “Come here, I want to suck it”
(oral sex). I wanted to cry, but I was brave, and got far from there.
I was 13 years old.
Everyone says Holland is so liberal, so open-minded. Also that sexist harassment is nil here.
Combine Sexist with Racist. Happy Racists.
This happens to me where I live, once a week, but here’s a specific example:
I am on my bicycle on my way to the grocery store. Two teenage boys ride on either side and make mocking “ChingChong” noises.
And they stay there, riding alongside me.
I tell them to go away, (Racists!) – they say, in English, “We’re not racists.”
Yes, I am Asian. No, I am not from China, or of Chinese descent. No, even if I were from China this is not OK.
More often, it’s less but the same:
I am on an errand — someone bikes by and sing-songs “China!” and “NiHao!” at me, and they’re gone. Happy smiling racists.
It ruins my whole walk. It’s racist, and also sexist. Because racism is how they get sexist, and worse.
I left my apartment at about 5:50pm to walk my dog, and it was already pretty dark. Since she had been inside all day, I decided we could walk around to Long Meadow so she could get some exercise. As we started walking that way, a man on a bicycle rode past us from behind. When I turned because I heard him coming from behind me, he smiled and waved a bit, in what seemed like a “Sorry, wasn’t trying to startle you” kind of gesture. Okay, that’s fine. So we kept walking. As we walked a little bit, I noticed this same guy was now standing by the lake, playing with his phone, bike on the ground next to him. Hmm. We kept walking. He rode past us again. I ignored him this time, but he did make some kind of gesture. Then again, we passed him, this time sitting on a bench, playing with his phone. He smiled and waved a little as we passed. This pattern continued for about 20 minutes or so, 2 or 3 more times. He’d ride past, then wait for us to pass him. I was getting annoyed, so I just stopped for a while. He stopped, too, a short way ahead of us. So I started walking back in the opposite direction, but also toward a park exit. Of course, he followed. I walked outside the park, and as I did, warned a couple women that a man had been following me, and asked them to be careful. I decided to linger outside the park to see if he would try to follow them. He didn’t. He just parked his bike next to some exercise bars near the Vanderbilt St. exit, and stared at me while I called the police. He stayed there the entire time I was on the phone, alternating between pretending to “exercise,” playing on his phone, and staring at me. Of course, when the police arrived, he left.
Groping and verbal harassment to women is, unfortunately, very common in my country, México. I’m 28 years old now, and I was 13 when for the first time in my life a man showed me his genitals in the bus. Back then I couldn’t do anything but start crying. Since that day on, that has happened to me several times, I’ve been groped on the street and in the bus, and not to tell the verbal harassment, that’s “the usual thing” when you walk on the street. Nowadays, I don’t start crying, I face them, push them or yell to them. Nevertheless, the feeling is always the same: anger and frustration. I try to participate in active ways to stop these things from happening in my country, it is very hard though, when most of the people think: “that’s bad but it’s normal”. I hope that movements like this can help to stop harassment against women.
I was stopped by a fundraiser for Planned Parenthood, of all things, and he told me that he had watched me walk up the street and then walk out of Target and that I was beautiful. I said thank you, but I’m not interested. I know he meant well, but that kind of approach is not appropriate or appreciated.
It wasn’t recent, but it took years before I realized that I’d been sexually harassed. I was attending Bates Technical College at the time and I was waiting to be picked up from school when some guy came walking down the street and started hitting on me. I was only sixteen at the time, and I was completely shocked to see that his d*ck was hanging out of his pants. I was disgusted, but too embarrassed to say anything (and I didn’t know what he was doing was harassment). If I could go back now and do something about it, I would.
When I was 14, a friend and I were going for a walk, minding our own business and happened to walk near a construction site. We weren’t even on the same side of the street but many of the men stopped what they were doing just to yell and whistle at us. It made me feel: embarrassed, frightened, confused, what did we do? It was the first time that I really encountered being treated differently in public and how it and many other incidents have made my wary and vigilant whenever I’m at any public forum, which is ridiculous to expect from women and even young girls. Other forms of harassment haven’t been on the street like this, but rather come from co-workers and from other situations, but all have contributed to my embattled mental state when dealing with male strangers. *sigh* I feel lame writing this from my current 26 year-old-self, but I don’t think girls should have to deal with that.
This is a story about my experience one day while living in Buffalo, NY. It’s one of many examples of how women experience street harassment every day.
A few years back I lived in Buffalo, NY for a time. One sunny, breezy, and beauteous summer afternoon, I decided to ride my bicycle over to Delaware Park. I had the day off and wanted to get out in the sunshine and enjoy myself for a little while. I was thoroughly enjoying my leisurely ride around the pond when a Mr. I-wear-sleeveless-tops-and-drink-protein-shakes type passed me on his bike and made a direct kissy noise at me. Needless to say I was skeeved and annoyed but continued on my ride anyways.
A few minutes later I see the same douche bag riding toward me on the trail once again. And once again, he made the creepy kissy noises at me. I thought “Ok.. seriously douche, this has to be the last time you will do this seeing as how I had absolutely no reaction to you.” Well I should have known that I was wrong. This happened twice more before I got too mad and bothered to stay there. So I road my bicycle home. I was pissed. How dare this f*cking douche bag make me feel uncomfortable – so uncomfortable that I choose to end my leisurely bike ride on a beautiful sunny day because I didn’t want to pass him again and hear him make those disgusting kissy noises at me. I should be able to go somewhere by myself and not fear or be bothered by douche bags like this.
Fuming, I made my way home, enjoying the ride that was luckily douche bag free. Or so I thought. I had reached my street, and was riding down the center of the road about a block from my apartment. I saw a little boy of about seven standing on the sidewalk ahead of me. As I rode past him he screamed “Hey! I lost my teddy bear, can I sleep with you?” Which was then also followed up by “Nice ass.” This boy was seven. Seven years old and already harassing women on the street. I will admit that I chuckled a little to myself, just because it was such a cheesy line. But seriously. I was street harassed by a seven year old. What the f*ck.
You don’t have to be conventionally “pretty” or “thin” to be harassed on the street, Basically the only qualification you need is to have a vagina. My friends and I would talk about it quite frequently. They were also harassed constantly while walking around Buffalo. Seeing as how Buffalo is a fairly urban area, I noticed that I was harassed much more often than, say, my home town. Men would say the most derogatory things to my friends and me. All the time. It was just like they had free reign to make women feel as uncomfortable and skeeved out as possible. And what could we do? Talk back sometimes, yes, but often times that would just fuel the fire and make it even worse. However, I came to realize that expressing your distaste with the way you’re treated is better than flat out ignoring it. Women shouldn’t feel silenced and intimidated on the streets. So ladies, next time some low life treats you like a piece of meat on the street, holla back at him and let him know that it is NOT acceptable.
F*ck street harassment and f*ck any society that accepts it as standard behavior.
I was walking back to my apartment after my internship on a Monday. I had already had a rough day and had just gotten off the phone with my mom. It was a little after 5pm and there were people everywhere. I was looking down for a second to hang up my phone when I looked up and saw an older man’s face right in mine. I felt his arm across my stomach and his hand slowly start to move up to my chest as he said, “hey baby.” I kept walking and was hoping someone was going to do something, maybe not do anything to him, but at least ask if I was okay. There were a lot of people around and not one person asked if I was alright. I felt so violated and immediately started crying and continued to walk home.